“There's Marcone, on horseback, at that corner,” Michele whispered suddenly. The Gadfly, still carrying his bundle, shuffled towards the horseman.
“Do you happen to be wanting a hay-maker, sir?” he said, touching his ragged cap and running one finger along the bridle. It was the signal agreed upon, and the rider, who from his appearance might have been a country squire's bailiff, dismounted and threw the reins on the horse's neck.
“What sort of work can you do, my man?”
The Gadfly fumbled with his cap.
“I can cut grass, sir, and trim hedges”—he began; and without any break in his voice, went straight on: “At one in the morning at the mouth of the round cave. You must have two good horses and a cart. I shall be waiting inside the cave—— And then I can dig, sir, and——”
“That will do, I only want a grass-cutter. Have you ever been out before?”
“Once, sir. Mind, you must come well-armed; we may meet a flying squadron. Don't go by the wood-path; you're safer on the other side. If you meet a spy, don't stop to argue with him; fire at once—— I should be very glad of work, sir.”
“Yes, I dare say, but I want an experienced grass-cutter. No, I haven't got any coppers to-day.”
A very ragged beggar had slouched up to them, with a doleful, monotonous whine.
“Have pity on a poor blind man, in the name of the Blessed Virgin——— Get out of this place at once; there's a flying squadron coming along——Most Holy Queen of Heaven, Maiden undefiled—It's you they're after, Rivarez; they'll be here in two minutes—— And so may the saints reward you—— You'll have to make a dash for it; there are spies at all the corners. It's no use trying to slip away without being seen.”